


In Which Two Dorks Go On Rants About Each Other

by Bea_the_Bee



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bea_the_Bee/pseuds/Bea_the_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so, apparently, I really really like writing about these dorks blabbering on about how much they love/like the other<br/>(fun fact! these are actual letters I wrote to my crush; i just made them gay and adjusted a few things)<br/>((also, none of these are connected, just fyi))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hopelessly, Utterly, Purely, Entirely, Absolutely

So. . . I've tried this before. Many times, actually. There are mountains of paper in my recycling bin because I just couldn't write it correctly.  
None of it.  
And now I'm starting to realize that maybe. . .  
Maybe I can't describe everyone. Maybe I can't capture their image and likeness in words on a piece of paper. Because god knows I've tried with you.

But there's too much. Too much for ink and paper and the simple stupid English language to enclose you to. Too much to describe and to love and to know and to memorize.

I used to think that if I was a good enough writer that I would be able to paint a picture of anyone in the reader's brain. So when I met you and I failed, I blamed myself. I told myself that I just wasn't good enough yet, that I needed to work harder in order to get the job done. But now I see that that just wasn't the case. Isn't the case.

And it frustrates me, oh god, does it ever. It infuriates me that I will never be able to describe just how incredible your eyes are or how your fingers move when you're writing. You aggravate me beyond belief with your perfect hair that looks so fuckin' soft and your smile that lights up your entire face and your laugh that is so contagious I can't even take it.

So I ask you, Mr. Cool Kid, "How dare you?"

The question is so loud in y quiet room at night while I lay in bed and ask it, over and over again in my mind.

"How dare you?"

How dare you be so perfect and amazing? How dare you make me fall in love? How dare you make me feel like absolute, unworthy garbage?

Because it's only ever been _you_ who makes me feel this way. Who makes it impossible for me to sleep because I'm too busy thinking of your laugh. It's you whose voice I hear in the middle of a loud crowded room. It's you who I gravitate towards when nobody else. It's you whose eyes keep me from writing because it's too damn bright.

It's. You.

So how dare you?

Why?

Why did you have to choose _me_ as a friend? Why do you have to slowly but surely introduce me to the real you? Make it even more impossible to deny. . .

Y'know, I always love it when you talk on and on about something. I don't even know why. If anybody else were to talk about the silly and pointless things you do, I'd probably fall asleep. But with you it's different. Isn't that how it always goes? It's the exact same with everyone else but once it gets to you I seem to run out of the same-old, same-old. Is it because you make me feel alive or because you make me feel like dying wouldn't be all that bad?

See, and this is the kicker; I don't know when you became so important to me. It was like, one day you were just there, just another classmate, just another face in the crowds, in the halls. And then you weren't.   
And then I noticed you, you and your perfect smile and your terrific sense of humor, and your amazing rambling. I saw you and to this day I cannot decide if I would take it back or do it a hundred times over.

Because even though you cause me so much pain and mental torment, even though you make me happy and angry and on numerous occasions made me contemplate death. Even with all of these things I cannot deny it:

I am hopelessly, utterly, purely, entirely and absolutely in love with you.


	2. Unsent Crush Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I mentioned in the last one, both chapters are humanstuck.  
> just in case you were confused about that or anything

Dear Karkat,

    I’ve tried this before. So many times. A mountain range of papers sit dormant in my recycling bin, and I don’t expect this one to have any other destination.

    God, there just never seems to be a right way to write these, is there? You just keep trying and trying and trying and it never comes out quite the way you want it to. I hear that the definition of insanity is trying something over and over again and expecting a different result. Then title me off as a mental case because I have been doing that with you since what feels like the dawn of time.

    I have tried again and again to not have my eyes instantly focus on your perfect face in the hallways.

    I have tried again and again not to memorize the classes we have together and what days I will be able to see you the most.

    I have tried again and again not to look up unrequited love songs to help maybe dull the ache I feel when I think of you.

    And I have tried again and again to fight off the feeling that I _need_ to write to you.

    But don’t worry about it. It’s probably just a result of being completely and utterly in awe of such a magnificent person. That person being you.

    Duh.

    Okay, so I think I should just start listing off the reasons why I like you. Uh. Yeah, that sounds like a much better idea than, y’know, babbling on about some of the pointless things I do with my time.

    You’re smart.

    You’re strong.

    You’re fit and athletic.

    Your laugh is better than any song ever written. Seriously, scientists will be studying its sound for eons, trying to figure out how something so utterly beautiful could ever be created by simple vocal chords.

    Your eyes are more beautiful than the sky on a crystal clear day when not even the trees move for fear of cracking the atmosphere in two. Your eyes are bluer than the bluest waters I have ever seen, which looked like it had the consistency of paint. Your eyes take on whatever color is in front of them, so when I see my reflection in your eyes, I can’t help but feel ashamed for bringing such an atrocity to something so utterly gorgeous.

    I like the way you talk, like you always have more to say but you’re afraid that if you say it I’ll run away or disagree with you. And when you talk on and on about such utterly pointless things! I have not, to this day, been able to figure out _why_ and _how_ I do not fall asleep. If it were anybody else, I would have dozed off, but with you. . . I can’t bring myself to _not_ pay attention.

    I love the way your whole face goes completely still when you’re focusing hard on a homework assignment or project.

    I simply adore it when you smile because the skin right up by your eyes scrunches up in the cutest way possible and I can’t stop myself from thinking “you’re going to have the most beautiful laughter lines.” And, oh gosh, your _dimples!_ How is it even possible for something to look that cute?! I don’t know how to describe how incredible your cheeks look when you smile without making them sound chubby. Maybe it’s because they are? But when you’re straight-faced, they don’t look that way.

    Who knows? It’s just another mystery to add to the already mile long list.

    You, sir, are a mystery all on your own.

    You’re incredibly involved with the community. Me to We club, YIG, I believe. There’s the ice-fishing trip I know you went on. I saw your picture in the year book. I think it’s incredible that you can juggle so much in your life while I struggle to juggle so little.

    Your friends are _amazing_. Like, seriously, A++ for friend choices. Keep them around, I can guarantee that they’re good people.

    You apparently really like playing the saxophone. Which is good. I’m happy that you thoroughly enjoy playing an instrument. I wish I could like playing the trumpet just as much.

    I’ve heard you’re pretty good at math. And since you aren’t in my accelerated English class, I suppose that means that English isn’t your strong point? Or maybe I’m reading the situation wrong and you’re just in both accelerated classes and you just have one before the other. I don’t know. All I know is that you must be a god at math and I can’t solve an algebraic problem to save my life.

    I see you smiling and joking with your friends in the hallways. You look happy.

    And this is barely scraping the surface of all that I like about you. You’re so much more than an attractive smile or an amazing laugh or lovely eyes or a genius or a really, truly nice guy. And I can’t list them all here because I doubt even you will get to see every layer to yourself. At least not now.

   I know there’s no such thing as a perfect human being and I know you probably have your fair share of flaws, but from where I’m standing, seemingly on the outside, I see nothing but someone who is the closest thing to perfection I can imagine.

    Which is why you probably don’t know I exist, right?

    The thing is, you’re so incredible and cool and smart and funny and clever and interesting that it’s no wonder you’re part of the more popular crowd. You’re on a level so much higher than me, it’s a miracle that I even got the chance to pair your name up with your face. I can’t even find one positive reason why you might notice me in the big stupid brain I possess. Maybe you’ll notice me for how fat I am or how loud my voice seems to be or for how silly I act around others. Maybe you’ll notice me for the way I just sort of freeze for a fraction of a second when I see your face or hear your voice or maybe you’ll notice me for – God forbid – who I _actually_ am.

    For a lot of other people, they dream of their crush noticing them for who they really are. But I dread it. Because I am not a nice person. I am mean and cruel and harsh and unnecessarily so. I say rude things and I push people away. I worry too much and talk too much and I find that I am not enough of the good stuff and far too much of the bad stuff.

    Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump that on you. But honestly, who cares? You’re not going to read this. And nobody else is either. I hope.

    And since I feel like this fact has now been well established . . . I may as well pour my heart and soul out, huh?

   Okay. I have nightmares about Valentine’s Day where I give you a valentine, but you turn me away in a way that makes me wake up crying every single time. I know you likely would never do that, but the fear remains.

    I have anxiety attacks thinking about how you may see me.

    I have starved myself before to try and be thinner, to try and be prettier so that I could possibly be more like what you want.

    I have read countless romance books and can’t help but imagine the boy and the girl and you and me.

    I think at night about how nice it would be to hold your hand. To kiss you on those indescribable cheeks and hold you close just before falling asleep. I think about how lucky someone will be to be able to play with your really soft looking hair while you chatter on about your day and how your friends are annoying you. I think about if you snore or talk in your sleep.

    I wonder who you like, if anyone. I wonder if they like you back. I hope they do.

    This is one of the reasons why I get so frustrated when I watch romance movies and the girl tries to split her love interest up with who they’re dating. I for one am pleased with whomever you like and whomever you’re dating as long as they make you happy.

    I really like seeing you happy.

    I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly upset. Sure, you’ve been somber and in a calmer or more serious mood, but never really _upset_. The kind of upset I see in some of my other friends. Like Kandy who cried when I talked about grandparents or Marcia who shut everyone else out after her girlfriend broke up with her. I haven’t seen you rub relentlessly at your eyes while sniffing because you’re trying to hold in your tears like my friend Zeke has done before. I haven’t seen that side of you.

    Is it messed up if I say that I almost want to?

    Not so that I can see you cry, god no. But so that I can know that you trust me enough to let me see you at your worst. Wow, that sounds super cheesy. Sorry.

    Listen. I know you don’t like me back. I know I’m not your type and I know that my existence could disappear off of the face of the earth without you really noticing. Which is one of the reasons why I wrote this. To “let you go.” To put all of these stupid teenage girl emotions onto a page and lock it away for. . .

    Well, I guess forever.

    So, yeah. I’m just going to end this here now.

    And hey; I mean every word I said.

Sincerely,

D-

Karkat stared at the piece of paper that had been shoved into his backpack that morning. He stood in front of the school as scores of students pushed and shoved their way out the main door. His mouth hung agape as he reread the last line to make sure he hadn’t mistaken the words for something else. _I mean every word I said._

“D.” he read the signature. “D.” he paused after saying it a second time. “ _Who the hell is_ “D?”” he finally shouted, throwing his arms up into the air with fury. A few of his fellow classmates snickered at his outburst, but he didn’t care.

Shoving the letter back into his backpack, Karkat started off for home with a question on his mind and hope in his heart.

_Maybe. . ._

_Maybe it’s_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkat is albino in this and what I found out was that albinos do not actually have red eyes, but blue ones. really really light blue ones. my mom says it's like their entire body was trying to become transparent


	3. Dave's Rant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this is actually pretty sad  
> uhm, by the way, this is a legit message a friend of mine sent me when she was feeling really down about liking a friend of hers.  
> i think the girl'd love to date her, but unfortunately, she doesn't believe so, so this happened.  
> yeah  
> enjoy the sadness

**_(TurntechGodhead has begun pestering TentacleTherapist)_ **

**TG:** okay. so this might be long or short. i'm not sure.

**TG:** today, during homeroom, we got to do walk  & talk (aka walking around the track and talking) and i spent the  _ whole time _ talking with karkat.

**TG:** About:

**TG:** hamilton

**TG:** if we want kids ("if my partner wants them" was his response)

**TG:** or if we would rather have dogs

**TG:** how he had a pet crab and named it Crabdad

**TG:** how he actually didn't like me last year ("i started to question why i became friends with you")

**TG:** but how he really likes me this year

**TG:** and stuff. and it was one of the best hours i've had in awhile.

**TG:** and Jade heard from Feferi that Karkat's 15 year old cousin, Porrim, came to visit our math teacher while karkat was in the classroom. and everyone was saying how pretty Porrim was and how lucky karkat was to have such a beautiful cousin.

**TG:** And personally,

**TG:** if it was socially acceptable to walk up to your also queer friend and tell them they were one of the most beautiful people you've ever met and that you live for every moment you have with them and that you can so easily imagine how amazing it would be to spend the rest of time getting lost in the short bursts of laughter they make when you amuse them and how you love how short they are because you want to hug them until time runs out and how their eyes light up when they talk about a subject they like or when they debate with a friend or how much you wish they would smile at you one. more. time. before you go home for the day or how much you love it right after they get a haircut because they look so badass and you feel proud to be in their friend group but you always want to be more even though you know it'll never happen and everyone knows you've got it so bad they could tell you to shoot yourself and you would.

**TG:** but that's not socially acceptable.

**TG:** i just wish he could know much i care for him.

**TG:** like...if i could channel it into his brain without him knowing that i really, really liked him.

**TG:** that would be great.

**TG:** i love hearing him talk.

**TG:** it never gets old.

**TG:** and he'll end up with John, sitting on a balcony somewhere watching his dog Adam play with his new daughter he adopted,

**TG:** and i'll be thinking of what could have happened if i wasn't such a freaking coward.

**TG:** if i could like him without seeing his repulsion

**TG:** quickly masked by pity

**TG:** as he says with his eyebrows knit just enough

**TG:** "you do?"

**TG:** "i'm so sorry, but i like john"

**TG:** "i don't feel the same"

**TG:** and i can just see his disapproving eyes.

**TG:** and how it would ruin the beautifully created golden web of similarities

**TG:** and likes

**TG:** and dislikes

**TG:** and thoughts

**TG:** i've shared with him

**TG:** and from then on, he'd give me a small smile every time i saw him

**TG:** just enough to be friendly, but enough so that when he turned away i would catch his meaning and i'd look away

**TG:** and i'd have to forget how damn sick my lovesickness is making me.

**TG:** lovesick? that's a dumbass word

**TG:** how about amoronia? love sickness?

**TG:** but as a disease?

**TG:** that works.

**TG:** that's what it feels like.

**TG:** i'll leave you to psychoanalyze this.

**TG:** one more thing...

**TG:** what if he somehow found out that i thought he was beautiful? he'd be...flattered, but he wouldn't do anything but get more distant.

**TG:** sad.

**TG:** it's called something in current slang terms...

**TG:** right,

**TG:** i'd be

**TG:** friendzoned.

**_(TurntechGodhead has ceased pestering TentacleTherapist)_ **


End file.
